Meet Thes Pian, High‑School Drama Queen
This is the story of Thes Pian. Born beneath the fluorescent lights of a suburban high school theater department, Thes once brought an audience of 14 (including a confused janitor) to tears with a stirring performance of Our Town—or maybe it was a fire drill. Regardless, the applause echoed in their soul.
Thes—known to close friends, frenemies, and their over-involved drama teacher as “Acktore”—had one dream: to perform, to be seen, to dramatically monologue in coffee shops without being asked to leave. And so, diploma in hand and ego fully inflated, Thes hurled their cap toward the heavens and declared to their parents, “I’m moving to New Angeles!”
New Angeles, of course, is that mythical blend of Los Angeles and New York—two cities so expensive they make your wallet whimper. But Thes was undeterred. They packed three suitcases (all mostly scarves), two granola bars, and a laminated resume with “Lead – Bye Bye Birdie (Community Theatre)” in bold. Fame, after all, waits for no one.
The Non‑Negotiables: Merely Staying Alive
Upon arrival in New Angeles, reality hit harder than an off-book scene partner. Turns out, landlords do not accept “passion” as legal tender. Exposure is not a currency. And charisma won’t keep the Wi-Fi on.
So let us break it down for our fledgling thespian. What does it cost just to breathe the smoggy, opportunity-laden air for one year?
- Rent (1‑bed cave): $26 k–$31 k per year. That’s for a room slightly larger than your ego, maybe with a closet.
- Utilities & Internet: $3 k (for hot water, electricity, and the endless doomscrolling that comes between auditions).
- Food: $4 k–$7 k. Most meals consist of noodles and hope. Avocados are a luxury item.
- Transportation: $9.5 k by chariot (i.e., car with insurance and parking anxiety) or $1.6 k via the magic MetroCard (subway theatre!).
- Health & miscellaneous survival: $7 k. That includes toothpaste, Band-Aids, therapy (you’ll need it), and the occasional vitamin to prevent scurvy.
Total just to exist: roughly $50 000. Thes chokes slightly on a protein bar but presses on, eyes full of dreams and empty of savings.
The On‑Camera Actor Path
Determined to “make it,” Thes begins their transformation from Drama Club Legend to Actual Working Actor™. This involves creating an entirely new financial ecosystem built on self-tapes, subscriptions, and the existential toll of pretending to enjoy being a barista “for now.”
Thes rents a studio with “great lighting” (read: no curtains), scours Craigslist for ring lights, and develops a close personal relationship with the phrase, “Can you slate again, but with less desperation?”
Professional Costs
- SAG‑AFTRA initiation: $3 060. A noble guild fee for entry into the kingdom of background work and occasional prestige.
- Headshots: $450–$550. Taken by a photographer who insists “let’s try one with your soul showing.”
- Demo reel shoot & edit: $750. You’ll pretend to be a lawyer, a nurse, and an emotionally available barista.
- Casting site subscriptions: $396. Includes the joy of submitting yourself 247 times to things titled “Untitled Indie Drama #54.”
- Weekly classes: $3.8 k–$4.2 k. Because even your tears need training.
- Self‑tape kit: $1 000. Lights, camera, existential doubt.
- Audition travel & wardrobe: $1 200. “Do I have anything that says ‘young cop with a dark past’?”
Actor start‑up bill: about $8 k–$9 k. Combine that with basic survival and our intrepid Acktore now faces a $58 k–$59 k cliff to climb—wearing jazz shoes and fake eyelashes.
The Voice Actor Detour
One particularly demoralizing Tuesday (callback for “angry extra with broom” didn’t go well), Thes meets a mysterious figure at a taco truck. This person speaks in dulcet tones and smells faintly of foam insulation. “You know,” the stranger whispers, “you could act... without pants.”
Thus begins Thes’s foray into voice acting. It is a world of microphones, soundproof closets, and talking to yourself for money. Also: total silence and complete madness.
Home‑Studio Gear
- Mic (Sennheiser MKH‑416): $849. The gold standard for making you sound like you’re in a Pixar movie and not your bathroom.
- Interface (Apollo Twin X): $999. Translates “emotion” into “signal.”
- Headphones & cables: $150–$250. For hearing every mouth noise you’ve ever made.
- Acoustic treatment: DIY blankets $1 000 or go full goblin and buy a $7 600 whisper booth.
- Quiet computer: $1 200–$1 800. If it hums, it must be silenced.
Business Overheads (12 Months)
- Source‑Connect: $605. So casting directors can listen in while you breathe nervously.
- DAW licence (Reaper): $60. Where you will edit out your breathy shame.
- Voice123 membership: $495. Like Tinder, but everyone’s profile is “confident but quirky.”
- Commercial & character demos: $1.6 k. You’ll need to sound like you’re selling dog food, insurance, and vengeance.
- Monthly coaching: $1.8 k. To help you cry like a cartoon orphan convincingly.
- Website & marketing: $300. So the internet knows you exist.
- Union dues: $241. Yes, again.
Lean studio path: $4.2 k gear + $5 k running + $50.5 k living = $60 000.
Fancy booth path: upgrade gear to premium and cry softly in your $67 000 studio closet.
A Ray of Hope (Cue Triumphant Fanfare)
By now, Thes has screamed into voids both digital and existential. They’ve been ghosted by casting directors, survived on hummus, and cried over a rejected VO audition for Squirrel Detective 2. But here’s the thing…
They’re still going. Still submitting. Still rehearsing Shakespeare in the produce aisle. And slowly, opportunities begin to trickle in—a background gig here, a VO spot for a local car wash there.
You see, dear reader, this path is steep and absurd, but not impossible. Many have faced the same numbers, the same ramen, and the same late-night tape sessions in a poorly ventilated apartment. And some—by luck, work, or sheer refusal to quit—have made it. So can you.
So chin up, noble Thes Pian. Your spotlight awaits. Just try not to trip over the extension cord.
Be sure to read "SHOCKING: D.C. Douglas Exposes Truth About 101 Voice Actors!"
